


Through the Years

by essequamvideri24



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The Shadow of the Tower, The White Princess (TV), The White Queen (TV), Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24





	Through the Years

Late afternoon sun coursed through the fine glass windows into the throne room to paint the floor gold. Men and women dressed in their finest were packed in tight, hugging the walls and crowding one another, consciously avoiding the center of the room. From upon the dais the royal family had a clear view of the performers in their colorful costumes. There were curious snarling men with fire billowing from their mouths like dragons, women who could twist and turn in the air like birds, and quick witted fools who could say something clever and charm those amassed with their words.

Elizabeth was five years old, seated on her father’s knee, a stub of marzipan grasped in her hand. It was all for her, mama had told her so that morning as she had combed through Elizabeth’s hair. Papa had invited everyone to celebrate his dear princesses’ name day. The young girl was less impressed with the landed and titled nobles, though, and only cared for the amusements and confections which had been arranged. Her father’s arm was wrapped around her protectively, keeping her secure on his knee, as he laughed and sang along to the tune the minstrels had begun to play.

She would look back on that day fondly as she sat stoically on a hard stool beside the queen’s bed. The room had been shrouded in darkness when the windows had been nailed shut to keep the evil airs from entering. The queen’s face, once handsome and lively, was now gray and expressionless. She looked tiny on the great bed, shrunken and sallow from her disease, she was dwarfed by the big fluffy pillows and rich bed clothes all about her. Her husband had certainly not skimped and made sure his wife was well provided for.

In these dark times Elizabeth had been all but forgotten, except in her capacities as caring niece and dutiful maid. No longer a princess, and nothing more than the bastard daughter of a dead king, she had been relegated to a life of service to her queen. But with the queen’s health fading fast, she was left to wonder on her nineteenth name day if her future looked anything but bleak. It was hard for the normally optimistic girl to see anything but hard times ahead for herself.

How wrong she would find herself to be when only a short year later she herself occupied the title of queen. Redemption had come to Elizabeth when she was at her most wretched, and it had come in the form of the slender, towering, hollow cheeked Welshman who had knelt before God and men to take her as his wife. 

She was twenty, and had emerged from the shadows to blossom into the fine young woman she was meant to be. Well treated and well regarded, Elizabeth counted herself content in all things. Restored to her titles and station, her husband treated her as though she were nothing less than a goddess, as evidenced by his extravagant gift to her. Just that morning the king had presented her with a dazzling broach featuring a stunning gold dragon head and encrusted on all sides with all manner and size of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

Fingers passing over the broach, it was with fondness that Elizabeth looked back on the early days of her marriage and reign, as she stood on the cleared path, bundled in her warmest cloak, to watch her children play in fresh fall of snow. The garden had been blanketed in a downy layer of snow which seemed equal parts magical and exciting to her three young ones. Smoothing her hands over her stomach Elizabeth could not help the smile that found its way to her lips, soon their little family would be six in total. 

The years had not been easy, but, on the balance, they had been worth it. And now they had finally found a kind of security, in the stability her husband had brought to the kingdom. A gloved hand came to rest atop her own on the swell of her stomach, and Elizabeth leaned back into Henry’s chest as he kissed the top of her head. She felt just as safe as she had that same day, twenty five years ago on her father’s knee.

She was thirty-seven now, in a dark room of the Tower. The days were gloomy and spiraled one into the next. Her baby had been taken from her some time ago, and she had not seen the child again. But laid low with a high fever, it was perhaps best that she did not receive the babe. Slipping in and out of consciousness sometimes Henry was there beside her bed, sometimes he was not. But each time she found at her bedside she believed she could see more worry etched into his already prematurely aged face.

Her eyes fluttered open to find Henry sat on the edge of the bed, her hand in his, looking down at her. She managed to give his hand a weak squeeze and he bent low over her to kiss her brow, he remained there moment trying to regain a semblance of his composure. He seemed sad, naturally, but for her part Elizabeth would not trade any of it. Neither the good nor the bad. Every little moment had been precious to her. It was with startling clarity that she now realized that her hardest, bleakest, darkest days, had only made the other days shine brighter.


End file.
